"I'm the gardener here."

“If Satan can get people to quarrel with one another, they will inevitably destroy themselves.”

 

Theodore M. Burton

 

The chain held by Satan is referred to in the scriptures as “the chains of hell”, “the bands of iniquity”, “chains of darkness”, and “the everlasting chains of death”. Such chains are used in making us captives of the evil one. Normally, they are not thrown over a man or a woman suddenly or in one single act. They start as flaxen threads and encumber a person habit by habit, sin by sin, and strand by strand. And if not cut and cast off through the process of repentance, they can become heavy chains and the awful “snare of the devil”.

….replace bad habits with good ones, and avoid any and every appearance of evil. Please be careful. Do not allow the chains of Satan to fall upon you. Do not allow those little threads to encircle you about. Throw them off. Cut them loose. Do not allow him to make you his. Satan is very uncomfortable, he is very miserable, and he seeks to make you and me miserable like unto himself.

Carlos E. Asay

 

The Gardener of Gethsemane

Russell C. Taylor

 

 

Just a few years ago my neighbors returned from Israel with olive leaves collected from the ground in the Garden of Gethsemane. I have often thought of that holy garden and how, nearly two thousand years ago, the ancestors of today’s trees witnessed the beginning of Christ’s atoning sacrifice. If they now had a voice, what a story they could tell!

 

I have also often thought that surely, since it was a garden, there was no doubt a gardener who lovingly tended those trees: nourishing them with precious water in times of drought, carefully pruning them to encourage their fruit, and harvesting the ripened olives.

 

It is more than symbolic, I believe, that the scriptures often speak of the Savior as just such a gardener. Quoting the prophet Zenos, the Book of Mormon prophet Jacob said this:

 

Hearken, O ye house of Israel, and hear the words of me, a prophet of the Lord.

For behold, thus saith the Lord, I will liken thee, O house of Israel, like unto a tame olive-tree, which a man took and nourished in his vineyard; and it grew, and waxed old, and began to decay.

 

And it came to pass that the master of the vineyard went forth, and he saw that his olive-tree began to decay; and he said: I will prune it, and dig about it, and nourish it, that perhaps it may shoot forth young and tender branches, and it perish not.

One of my favorite stories of how the Savior directs our lives is told by Elder Hugh B. Brown, who, throughout most of my teenage years, was a counselor to President David O. McKay and was much loved by Church members. I first heard this story when I was a missionary in Germany in the 1960s. One of my fellow missionaries was a grandson of President Brown and had a tape recording of his grandfather relating this experience, which he entitled “The Gardener and the Currant Bush.” I’ll use President Brown’s own words:

 

In the early dawn, a young gardener was pruning his trees and shrubs. He had one choice currant bush which had gone too much to wood. He feared therefore that it would produce little, if any, fruit. Accordingly, he trimmed and pruned the bush and cut it back. In fact, when he had finished, there was little left but stumps and roots.

Tenderly he considered what was left. It looked so sad and deeply hurt. On every stump there seemed to be a tear where the pruning knife had cut away the growth of early spring. The poor bush seemed to speak to him, and he thought he heard it say, “Oh, how could you be so cruel to me; you who claim to be my friend, who planted me and cared for me when I was young, and nurtured and encouraged me to grow? Could you not see that I was rapidly responding to your care? I was nearly half as large as the trees across the fence, and might soon have become like one of them. But now you’ve cut my branches back; the green, attractive leaves are gone, and I am in disgrace among my fellows.”

 

The young gardener looked at the weeping bush and heard its plea with sympathetic understanding. His voice was full of kindness as he said, “Do not cry; what I have done to you was necessary that you might be a prize currant bush in my garden. . . .

“. . . You must not weep; all this will be for your good; and some day, when you see more clearly, when you are richly laden with luscious fruit, you will thank me and say, ‘Surely, he was a wise and loving gardener. He knew the purpose of my being, and I thank him now for what I then thought was cruelty.’”

 

At this point in the telling, Elder Brown’s story became a personal reflection as he looked back 40 years to when he was an officer in the Canadian army, stationed in England during World War I. An opportunity for promotion had unexpectedly come up, and he was ordered to report to his commanding officer’s quarters. Elder Brown had prepared for years for just such a position as the one he fully expected to be offered. He was confident that he would be given the promotion and the success of his military career would be assured.

 

As he entered the commanding officer’s quarters, President Brown noticed his own personnel file lying open on the desk in front of his superior. He also noticed a note written in a clear hand saying, “This man is a Mormon.” Elder Brown was informed that he would not be given the promotion he was expecting and was assigned what he considered a “relatively unimportant post.” He was crushed. He was convinced that his fellow soldiers would view this assignment as a sign that he had failed. He returned to his tent and knelt next to his cot and wept. He knew that he could never achieve his goals of becoming a high-ranking military officer. He cried out to God:

“Oh, how could you be so cruel to me? You who claim to be my friend you who brought me here and nurtured and encouraged me to grow. Could you not see that I was almost equal to the other men whom I have so long admired? But now I have been cut down. I am in disgrace among my fellows. Oh, how could you do this to me?”

 

Elder Brown felt humiliated, and his heart was full of bitterness. Then he seemed to hear an echo from the past. The words that were in his mind were words he had heard before but where? Then he realized that they were the words of the currant bush, and his memory whispered: “I’m the gardener here.”

 

The remembrance of that long-forgotten incident in the garden came rushing back to him, and his own memory answered the bitter plea he had cast at God:

“Do not cry . . . what I have done to you was necessary . . . you were not intended for what you sought to be, . . . if I had allowed you to continue . . . you would have failed in the purpose for which I planted you and my plans for you would have been defeated. . . . Some day when you are richly laden with experience you will say, ‘He was a wise gardener. He knew the purpose of my earth life. I thank him now for what I thought was cruel.’”

 

Remorseful, the bitterness washed from his heart, President Brown spoke humbly to God and confessed:

 

“I know you now. You are the gardener, and I the currant bush. Help me, dear God, to endure the pruning, and to grow as you would have me grow; to take my allotted place in life and ever more to say, ‘Thy will not mine be done.’”